6 weeks, 1 day--no more no less.

I figured since my children inadvertantly found out and since Kitty has been spilling the beans to anyone within ear-shot, I might as well make the formal announcement.  Ready, here it is, all creative-like and cutesy:

#3 due July 4

Ugh.  If you know me at all, you know that I am not one of those glowingly happy pregnant people.  In fact, I turn into Eeyore and can't stop complaining (everytime I read over that last sentence I read "eyesore" instead of Eeyore, which might be just as fitting). 

My house smells like pot-roast, and not in a yummy Sunday dinner kind of way.

I hate the new air fresheners I put in the bathrooms last month, I am considering burying them in the backyard.

The Febreze laundry detergent is going to cause nausea for YEARS to come, just as even looking at maternity clothes brings on the dry heaves again.

You know it's bad when you drive through Sonic at happy hour and order a Limeade, what?

Here's the thing though... I figure I earned my bad attitude back in 2001 when I was really sick for a really long time (not 9 mos, but still).  I've done my time with misery.  Anything that comes up after that is just above and beyond what should be expected from any normal person.  To quote my favorite Modern Family character, Cam: "and I would not make a very inspirational disabled person..."

Misery loves company and if you don't like it then don't come around and talk to me.